


Batches

by snarechan



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst, Community: ygo_drabble, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-16
Updated: 2009-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of darkshipping drabbles and one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My friend Cassandra Cassidy introduced me to YuGiOh! drabble community a bit ago and convinced me to give it a try. I'm a big fan of writing them since they're like mini one-shots, and those I can do in a heartbeat. Plus, it gave me a chance to get back into my one true love: darkshipping. I'm shameless, I know.
> 
> I actually went ahead and did all of theme set #1, as well as theme set #2 and an ongoing set of my own that I've made up as I go along with it.

\----Hope----

They’d been dueling for hours. For all their hard work, and failures, and meek accomplishments, they’d only managed to eventually come to a stand still. The battle looked even bleaker for Yami than for the other, though.

“Why do you do it?” Bakura groused from across the field, his posture appearing solid with unshaken fingers, but his slightly slouched position gave away his weariness.

“Do what?” he replied calmly. Some might even consider it too calmly, considering he was in a card fight to the death and the odds were against him.

“Keep fighting. You’re on your last legs, _Pharaoh_ , or haven’t you noticed yet?”

Though the question had most likely been rhetorical, Yami tilted his head regardless, appearing to give the thought some deep consideration before he returned his full attention back to the thief.

“Because…of my friends’ dreams, and the desires of those closest to me. For them, I’ll never give up.” ****

\----Real----

 _This can’t he happening_ Yami thought borderline helplessly, his eyes fixed on the destruction Bakura and his Ka monster, Diabound, had wreaked upon his beloved city.

Everything was turning to ruins before his eyes, the town burning up in ash and smoke. The screams of innocent people filled the air as well and nearly choked him in the process of trying to absorb all that was happening.

But it couldn’t be! This just couldn’t be re-

“So, Pharaoh…” a voice purred nearby, causing the King’s head to twist around and face the familiar voice, “How does it feel to see everything you love squandered?”

“How… _how can you talk so impassively about this_?” he snapped in response. Yami looked him straight in the eye, trying to understand, despite the raw hate and pain he was feeling towards the other, the meaning behind all of this.

He didn’t like the alien glint of insanity in the pair of eyes he was met with. ****

\----Sex Appeal----

It may not look like it, but Yami is aware of what everyone is thinking when they catch sight of his attire. He knows people tend to stare a little too long at times or make lewd jokes behind his friends’ and his back.

It’d never been his idea to wear leather, not that he ever really complained. It serves his purposes well enough and the pants in particular are almost the only pair Yugi owns. He’s gotten so used to wearing it that he’s become accustomed to it, almost expectant, and prefers nothing less now.

However…

“What is it?”

Bakura was scowling across from him, appearing ready to shift around under Yami’s intent gaze. The idea of the thief being uncomfortable, because of him no less, was nearly as satisfying as seeing him in the white dress-shirt he was sporting right now.

“Do my looks no longer please you, Pharaoh? I’m _terribly_ sorry if I’ve revolted you,” he continued with a sneer, his tone quickly changing at the trailing finger Yami brushed over the ironed, cotton material.

Though Yami’s compliments were soft and able only to be heard by a nearby ear, the fact of the matter was that his voice had dropped an octave or two. ****

\----Ano Hito (that person)----

Looking back on the matter, it was hard for even Yami and his intelligent mind to decipher why he bothered nowadays with some things. In this instance, he was bothering with a certain white-haired man who is too _stubborn_ and _conceited_ to see past his own nose.

They’d had a comparatively ‘small’ argument when he thought about some of their previous ones, but it was an argument nonetheless. It’d been several hours now since they’d last spoken, and Yami had had a lot of time to think things over. He hadn’t quite gotten past hoping that Bakura had done the same and was currently kicking himself in the rear all the way back home to apologize, though.

“Hey.”

Nearly jumping a foot or two off the couch, Yami narrowly retained his dignity by putting all his energy into sitting still at being surprised. With a feigned disinterest, he looked over the back of his seat, eyeing the previously mentioned white-haired man.

“Yes?”

“Do you want dinner or not?”

 _And this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with?_ Yami thought for the billionth time that night. Looking at the name on the food packages – and noting they were from a very expensive restaurant across town– he decided the answer had moved from a ‘no’ to a ‘maybe’. ****

\----Rain----

Bakura could remember the first time he’d seen rain. The memories were old, even chopped up some, but he could still recall parts of it.

It wasn’t one of his more fond memories.

When his village had been slaughtered, it had rained soon after. He could distinctly recall the sizzle of the huge drops landing on the burnt buildings and the water getting soaked up by the bloody sand. The storm hadn’t cleared up the scent of death afterwards, that much he knew, too.

“Che. When did you say the monsoon season will be over, Bakura?” Yami scoffed to his right, bringing the thief out of his thoughts.

Without a word, he glanced down at the other, taking note of his waterlogged appearance. The both of them were soaked, and even Yami’s usually straight and proper hairdo was drooping with the weight of the liquid cascading down from the sky. The sight was amusing in his state of mind, so he laughed.

He got strange looks from fellow street travels as they suddenly tried to avoid crossing his path, but Bakura didn’t care. He was used to going crazy on rainy days. ****

\----Music----

In the shadows, Bakura watched. He watched the jugglers and fire-eaters, the belly-dancers and masked men step through the crowds. He watched the celebration, absorbing all of it and more as the elephants and their owners traveled past him towards the palace.

From his vantage point, he could easily make out the sounds of cymbals and string players, their tunes of merriment and joy carrying through the air to fill it with their noise. Cheers of encouragement and rapture followed suit, supporting all of it. A parade would be nothing without its songs, after all.

But his grin wasn’t out of excitement for the party going on, for as he looked at the young Pharaoh enjoying his coronation he thought darkly _let him enjoy it while he can_. ****

\----Pain----

Yami lost his mother and his people.

Bakura lost his entire village.

Together, they lost the past, their entire world in a single day. They’ve been beaten down, torn apart, and put back together piece by piece - memory by memory - until they are what they are today. Each step has been struggled for, well-planned, and a gamble; not a single one hasn’t been laden with hardships.

Some time while traveling their different paths, they came to share this same knowledge. ****

\----Lies----

Bakura is a liar. It comes with the title of being a thief, a cutthroat, someone who has lived their entire existence on exploiting the weak and fooling the strong. White lies, half-truths, and barefaced lies…if the right situation calls for it, he’ll lie straight through his teeth.

But don’t think differently of him, because he doesn’t do so _all_ the time. He’s learned that the truth can be a deadlier weapon than just empty words. ****

\----Sleep----

It’s been a long time since Bakura started fighting. Fighting to survive. Fighting to seek revenge. Fighting to change. There doesn’t seem to be a single point from the day he was born to this instant that he hasn’t been striving towards some goal.

Now he’s…here, wherever here is. Here – in some dark, nameless void in the middle of nowhere. The last thing he could recall was – _heh_ – fighting against the Pharaoh in the Memory RPG. If past experiences were anything to go by, then Bakura reasoned that he must finally be dead now, since there was definitely no war going on in this dead zone.

 _How dull…_ he thought darkly, glancing around the place and hastily adding, _and how tiresome._

Footsteps.

Suddenly alert, he tried to straighten in place but there was no ground to help him do so. Instead he twisted, spotting a darker form than the surrounding area beginning to approach.

“Who’s there?”

“You look tired,” the newcomer whispered.

Bakura scowled, “You-!”

“It is time you got some rest. So rest.”

And without meaning to, he closed his eyes. ****

\----Midnight----

Tick. Tock. Tick.

It was always like this at night. They would lie down together, they’d get situated together, and then he would lie awake alone. It was just a part of his nature; when he’d been a child living on the streets striving to survive and trying to get ahead in the game, he’d trained himself to sleep lightly. To this day, he still can’t go into a deep slumber – a slight nap or resting his eyes, perhaps, but besides that…

Tick. Tick. Tock.

Yami mumbled slightly and turned over in his sleep, his head scooting in close to nestle on top of his side and shoulder. He tensed only marginally at the touch as he waited to see if the other would awaken, but after a moment of nothing more than soft breathing, it became apparent that he was still the only one awake at this hour.

“It’s late, you know.”

Or not.

“Depends on who you ask.”

Comfortingly, his partner rubbed a hand along his chest, eyes still shut in mock slumber, “ _I_ say it’s late.”

“And who asked you?”

“Just try and get some sleep, will you?”

Bakura grunted in response as if in stubborn denial of his request. He knew, however, that if the Pharaoh or he were going to be getting any kind of relaxation that night, he’d have to give in. And by ‘give in’ he means ‘humor him’, as in pretending to fall asleep.

At least, that’s what he was planning as he absently caught the sounds of one of their clocks chiming the late hour, the other’s soothing touch lulling him to sleep. ****

\----Moment----

It was one of those times where in that exact point in time everything was just right. There would be no later or a before - just a _now_ because everything was set in motion. His plans had gone off without a hitch and there had been no one standing in his way.

This would be his time to shine.

Sardonic grin in place, Bakura put one sandaled foot in front of the other and burst through the double doors with the mummified body in tow. The Pharaoh’s shocked expression at seeing him in his palace with his dead father was just too perfect. ****

\----Indignation----

The hand was in his favor; that much Yami could tell. After such a painstaking duel, it was almost a relief to know he had this game in the bag. Not that he’d ever doubted it, his deck has yet to fail him, but when dueling with the likes of Bakura, one can never be too cautious.

With a smooth twist of the wrist, he placed down the magic card, declaring its name and function in a single breath. In that instant it was all over, his victory evident in how the dark energy surrounding them slowly began to dissipate as the last of his opponent’s monsters vanished into thin air. Again.

Bakura looked positively livid at another loss. ****

\----Closure----

“I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t make things better.”

“I know…but I’m still sorry. Sorry for your loss and being unable to fix it all.”

“If you are truly sorry, you’d find a way to fix things. At least, that’s how I remember the old you as being.”

“Then tell me. Show me – how can I be forgiven?”

“By forgiving me first.”

“It’s already been done.”

“Then it is done.” ****

\----Red----

Bakura doesn’t see things like most people do.

There are people who have tunnel vision, who only see things in black and white. Good and bad. Right and wrong. They act without caution or thought, oftentimes rushing into things without warning or a plan. They are instinctual, like wild beasts with little purpose.

There are people who see the world in Technicolor, who only see things like through a kaleidoscope or rainbow vision. All is good in the world and peace is at hand. They act like lovesick fools or pitifully go through life with little care, always hoping for that day to come where all things are resolved. Only hopes and dreams float through their heads.

But Bakura…he sees things in red. He sees the viciousness and bravery in life, in the deceit and darkness lurking everywhere. There is no shade but blood. He even sees the reality of who people really are.

He sees Yami’s passion and raw power. He sees it _all_.

\----Death----

No one knows death better than Bakura. He’s lived it, been there, done that. He uses it to his advantage, twirls it around his little finger like a deadly weapon to be used and abused. He’s been on every side of it; there’s nothing he hasn’t experienced. Some have even claimed that he _is_ death, his deck customized to take his enemies to the grave.

So it’s strange to be feeling so alive. He never thought he’d be given such a second chance. The ability to not have to kill or be killed is an experience he’s very slowly becoming accustomed to.

“What are you thinking about?”

Looking away from the paradise in front of him, Bakura glanced at Yami out of the corner of his eyes.

“Irony.”

“Oh?” the Pharaoh murmured curiously.

“Yeah, like how I’ve felt more alive in this afterlife than I ever did on earth.”

Yami smiled, the gesture not born out of pity or guilt but mirroring the thief’s amusement.

“Yes, that is rather ironic, isn’t it?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the #2 theme set I was talking about previously . And with this I've thus completed both themes, yayz!

\----J'ai besion de (I'm in need of)----

 _I have to win._

For Bakura, the thought was stark in his mind. It was the _only_ thought on his mind. There were no ifs, ands or buts about any of it. He _had_ to win. He had to. He’d worked too long and hard to get where he is just to fail; the man wouldn’t stand for allowing everything he’d previously done up until this point to become meaningless.

This was the last stand…the final battle. If this collapsed, so did everything else.

But he wasn’t concerned. Not entirely. Everything was currently in his favor, and it was Yami who would be in need of a miracle to survive what he had planned next. ****

\----Internation----

The bronze cuffs bit into his skin worse than anything he’d experienced before. He’d been confined in rope before, the cords chaffing more than digging right into the skin, and also twice as easy to break free from. Bakura could escape from that easily, the knots often a poor excuse for a hindrance. But a metal wrap…now that’s different.

If he weren’t so weak, he’d laugh at the dark humor in all of this. He has been on the run from the Pharaoh and his guards for so long, caught between their spears and a scrap of a getaway for so long, that it doesn’t feel so strange to be chained up like he is. He’d been running away from the inevitable, for he’d been snared a long time ago. ****

\----Teach----

“You are doing it wrong.”

“I am not.”

Temporary silence ensued as the Pharaoh continued to observe.

“I would not do that if I were you.”

“Good thing I’m _not_ you.”

Another moment of quiet.

“Here, let me show you.”

“I can do it myself!”

“But you are looking at this the wrong way-”

“I like doing it this way!”

Yami gave the stubborn man a light scowl from across the table. The other went on to ignore him, concentrating back on his task with an air of absolute attention before he picked a single card from his hand and laid it flat on the table to reveal a rather rare magic card.

“See? Once again, I’ve proven to you that your lack of magical defense-”

Without waiting for him to finish the Pharaoh placed down a magic card of his own, which enabled him to attack the other’s Life Points directly, cleaning him out. For a very long, drawn out moment Bakura merely glared at their setup, already analyzing every move played and trying to pinpoint where he’d gone wrong.

“If you had listened to me,” Yami tried to explain as gently as possible, “I could have told you not to take only my monsters into consideration, especially since I was showing such a high number of them on the field.”

Now it was Bakura’s turn to scowl, his expression plainly saying that he wouldn’t admit the other was right. Even though he was. ****

\----Kiss----

Kissing Bakura is a lot like kissing death, Yami realized one day. There are a million ways to die, just as there are ways to touch lips with the thief. Sometimes there is an abundance of raw emotion – hate, despair, lust, desire – and sometimes it’s just cold – lifeless, hopeless, lonely – while other times it’s sudden – no warnings, an instant, unpredictable.

One minute it will be riddled with everything promising in this world, and the next a soul-stealing vice. There’s no way of telling how it’s going to happen, or why, or even where.

How very fitting. ****

\----Chocolate----

Though Yami knew he had been a Pharaoh, and thus a ruler in a very hot and very dry climate somewhere stationed in Egypt, he also knew he still couldn’t stand summer heat waves. They come rushing in like raging demons, ravaging the land with no rain or so much as single white cloud in the sky, skyrocketing the temperatures to at least 101 degrees.

“You look like you could use this.”

Looking up from his resting position on his arms, Yami eyed the chocolate ice cream in its waffle cone with a critical eye before resting his gaze over the counter at its wielder. Bakura merely rolled his eyes, shoving the food closer to his face.

“The sprinkles aren’t rat poison, so are you going to eat it or not?”

Delicately, he took it from the other’s hand, continuing to eye it for a moment before taking a tentative lick. It had to be one of the most delicious concoctions he’d ever tasted. He started to eat it with a bit more vigor, to Bakura’s amusement. ****

\----Doubt----

Both Bakura and Yami are cautious by nature. Unlike their more sincere, albeit comparatively move naïve, counterparts, they know the world to be a bit more dark of a place.

For Bakura, a relationship sounded more like a chore. Going places, seeing things, doing everything together…it was like harboring a leech, not a lover. Besides, love was beyond him – the only thing that even remotely mattered to him now would be trust, which is something sorely lacking in his life.

For Yami, a relationship is something a bit more special. He knows love at first sight and true love aren’t real, but that companionship, family, and things far truer in nature are there if he just looks hard enough. Trouble is, finding such things in a world as big as the one he’s found himself in is difficult, close to impossible.

Both had lost any hope in ever discovering that special someone, until... ****

\----Swift----

The thief didn’t know when it had happened. It isn’t anything like the storybooks or tales of lore would have you believe. There is no love at first sight, riding off into sunsets, or magically stumbling upon it like a pebble in the road. There’s no quickness of breath or heartbeat, no dazzling, winning smiles or sparkling eyes. There isn’t even instant attraction.

It’s just one day you wake up alone, then years later after everything, you wake up next to someone you realize you can’t bear to go on without.

At least they got the sappy part right. ****

\----Redemption----

He’d just wanted to live the rest of his life in his village, to perhaps someday get a big merchant job or marry some simple girl so he could raise a simple family.

He’d just wanted revenge for the people - his mother and father and his brethren - the Pharaoh had mercilessly slaughtered for no apparent reason other than greed.

He’d just wanted to kill the Pharaoh, because it’s all he’s been thinking about for the longest time.

He’d just wanted…to live a good life, to be with _them_ , to forgive and be forgiven. ****

\----Blue----

Secretly, Yami’s favorite color is blue. It is why he doesn’t mind wearing that uniform Yugi insists on wearing all over the place (even _after_ school hours), and, almost just as secretly, he admits it looks very nice on Bakura, even if it is in the form of sailor stripes. ****

\----Technology----

 _The 20th century isn’t such a bad place to end up after dying, being sealed into a golden trinket, and being released again in a different time period_ Yami mused one early morning in May, his body snuggled up close to a warm and firm chest. The sounds of distant traffic no longer bothered him, perhaps comforted him a little, once he got used to it all.

Air conditioning wasn’t that bad either, he’d readily admit, along with the promise of a lukewarm shower later…hopefully with the same person he was currently attached to.

Oh yes, the advancement in everything these days is a wonderful thing, though the small comforts are good too, like, say, the feel of a muscular arm curling around him to pull him close and-

BEEP. BEEP.

Eye twitching, Yami tried to tune out the sounds of a clock alarm announcing the seventh hour, mentally cursing that which he’d just been complimenting so. ****

\----Water----

The people of today have no idea how lucky they are. Back in his day, it took a certain amount of luck and a quick hand to ensure you got enough to eat and drink just to survive.

Now there are _water parks_ and _scuba diving_ and _kayaking_ and _indoor plumbing_. It’s almost enough to make him sick.

“Here.”

Bakura looked up just in time to accept the drink Yami offered to him, openly admiring the Pharaoh in nothing more than his swim trunks and returning tan.

Yeah. _Almost_ enough to make him sick. ****

\----Night----

I am the darkness you fear.

I am the shadow that stalks you.

When the lights go down in the city, when you lay your head down to rest, when the spirits come out to play, I am the one who is there.

Watching. Waiting.

Preying. Protecting what is _mine and mine alone_. ****

\----Pleasure----

Though it’s not something Yami would readily admit, he acknowledges the fact that Bakura is a very physically strong person, so much as to be considered more powerful than him in that respect. Such a feature has yet to actually be _tested_ , but the fact of the matter is that he would rather not have to find out if he can help it.

The thief can pick up grown men with a single hand, defend himself against more than one adversary, and take a beating and a half and still manage to get back up on his feet. His hands are more than able to deliver a deathblow if threatened and crush a wildly-thrown fist.

Just the same, his fingers can be gentle if he so wishes, the digits soothing away knots in back muscles and calluses tickle against sensitive skin.

Yami would know best, since he’s the one receiving the massage. ****

\----Lust/Desire/Want----

Their togetherness hadn’t been anything beautiful to start with.

It had been out of pure passion of the body, of a twisted respect of beautiful features and deadly craving for power that had brought them to each other’s side. Their duels are exciting, their banter feverish, and their odds addicting.

After a while of the lasciviousness, it soon changed to a deeper sensation between them. Admiration for the other’s traits and specialized abilities, a strange devotion towards impressing and building off one another, and a certain… _yearning_ that could only be satiated by the bond they suddenly found themselves sharing.

The feelings only continued to progress to the point where it became natural to be so close, their spirits only well-balanced when able to see each other. They had gone from something so simple as to be defined as primitive to having no other wish than to wake up to a familiar face. ****

\----Love----

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Joey Wheeler confessed to Yami, his hands fisted in his pockets and his eyes earnest. “He’s been nothing but bad news since we got wind of him, and he’s, ya know, tried to outdo us more than once or twice.”

The Pharaoh took this all in stride, nodding his head absently since he could not rightfully deny what the blonde was saying. Taking the gesture as encouragement, the boy continued.

“And he’s dangerous, and dicey, and opens the Shadow Realm up like I do pop cans. Don’t get me wrong; besides being a nutcase on his good days and a raging psychopath on his bad ones, he’s an intelligent guy. I get that.”

Absently he wet his lips, gathering his thoughts.

“Do ya see where I’m getting this? I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve yet to see the guy so much as hold your hand, much less be an upstandin’…er…‘boyfriend’. You’d have to be as crazy as he is to hang with the guy.”

To Joey’s bewilderment, Yami actually smiled at that, tilting his head to let his gaze wander outside their booth window. “Yes. The heart is kind of funny like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More oldies! Some of these were drabble sets I'd made up for practice or were gifts to Cassandra Cassidy again, and I forgot to post them up. The drabbles span from beginning, middle, end and even a little beyond the initial YuGiOh series, meaning there are spoilers, and they don't all share the same rating. There's even a couple racy ones in this batch, so I'd rate this from K to M, easy. Readers be aware and all that.

\----Pregnant----

Anzu had a dilemma. She was alone with Bakura, and she was running out of punch.

 _What do you talk about with a sociopath?_ She wondered nervously, taking a sip that threatened to haunt her later. _Atemu mentioned adoption to me a couple days ago, so maybe that's a safe topic._

"So, Bakura, interested in having any children?"

"No thank you, I'm not hungry." ****

\----Stars----

"They are rather bright tonight."

Atemu looked away from the twinkling sky to acknowledge his cousin, Priest Seto. The Pharaoh often came to this part of the palace to think, his seeking of solitude having become frequent of late if even this adviser knew exactly where to find him on such short notice.

"Does such an occurrence signify anything?" Atemu questioned, having noticed the same thing himself. He sorely hoped that it was a good sign.

"It depends," the other shrugged, expression void of anything meaningful. "Some say it's an omen of bad tidings, while most like to think it's a sign from the gods meaning good fortune."

"You think it's the former, I take it."

The taller figure said nothing as he steeled his jaw and looked out across the city, past the gates and to the sands and dunes where they all knew _he_ was waiting, where he'd last been seen heading and hidden himself away. If Atemu reached out with his magic, he could _almost_ sense the Thief King, but not enough to pinpoint his exact location-

"You should be praying he does not return alive, not looking for him here," the brunet warned. "At least, not until you are ready." _Ready to destroy him._

"I came here to think, Priest. Leave me to it."

The man looked as if ready to argue further, but a single sideways glance made him rightfully change his mind. Once he was alone, Atemu let his eyes wander back to the horizon, ever gazing. ****

\----Update----

Though Atemu didn't duel much - if at all - these days, he still liked to keep up with it. He ordered the most informed magazines and newsletters, along with listening to any small tidbits Yugi would bring up in conversation as he still traveled to conventions for the game shop.

He was reading one over his Saturday lunch, in fact. Specifically: an article concerning Kaiba's Duel Academy, a school created in the Southern Seas strictly to teach any willing Duel Monsters fanatics to learn and perfect their skills in the game. As he delved deeper into it, he absently lifted his sandwich up to be eaten, yet stopped mid-bite as he came across quite the curious paragraph.

"What has you so riveted?" Bakura asked as he appeared partly-dressed from a shower, towel still wrapped around his bare shoulders. He came up from behind and dug his chin into Atemu's shoulder to eye what he had in hand.

 _What this visitor found interesting was the very organized fashion in which Seto Kaiba's academy has divided itself among its students. There are only three groups - Obelisk Blue, Ra Yellow, and Osiris Red - among the duelists attending the school that signify their learning status. Those in the posh uniforms of Obelisk Blue are of the highest quality and ability, having showcased true dueling spirit through their years at the institute, while those wearing the colors of Ra Yellow demonstrated absolute promise and proved themselves geniuses at the card game on their entrance exams, as opposed to those who are put in Osiris Red, the lowliest of those who entered the school and the majority of whom make many question why they even bothered to be present in the first place…_

"Still a bitter bastard, isn't he?" the thief noted.

And he'd know best, too.

\----Beautiful----

Atemu had bruises from his fall, the dark splotches on his skin mingling with his tan like the fur on a spotted leopard. He'd lost some of the gold ornaments he'd been adorned with, save his slightly dusty crown and earrings, as well as a sparse number of stubborn bracelets.

Atemu was bleeding from their fights, cuts and internal injuries evident as he had to strain to keep from coughing even just a tad too hard or risk overexerting himself and furthering his wounds. Already, he'd lost quite a bit of blood, the red life-force trailing down his arms and legs and chin.

Atemu, until this very moment, had never looked as lovely to the Thief King in all the time he'd seen him. ****

\----Your Mom----

He saw her standing by the river, hands clasped lightly in front of her and glancing down at the sparkling waters. She was of reasonable height and wearing a pleated dress with a scarlet and amethyst shawl, with matching beads throughout. It wasn’t her form of dress that enabled him to recognize her, nor the feathered headdress she wore… It was her eyes. They were his, staring straight back at him as they reflected in the shimmering surface of the Nile.

At his almost timid approach, she jerked, eyes blinking in awareness at the sounds of his nearing footsteps on the silted edges. Mirroring purple eyes met his and held, and she knew, too – he was her son, and she his mother. Atemu had found her at last.

Smiling as only loving parents can to their children, she turned and opened up her arms in welcome. Unable to keep his hesitation at bay, he was slow in meeting her embrace, but when he did, his arms circled around to her back as hers did the same. She felt warm and caring.

“You’ve grown,” she said, her voice strong and lilting, reminding him of nursery rhymes and confidence. “Able and wise, like I knew you would be.”

She lightly kissed the topmost tip of his ear, her lips soft, and pulled away. He looked up at her, not wanting her to leave now that she was here and so was he, but her gaze was elsewhere over his shoulder. Atemu tilted his head far enough to follow suit, spotting the edge of a red robe peeking out from the shadows of ruins. Bakura was learning against the wall almost unseen. Was he checking up on him?

His mother didn’t seem to mind the fact that they were being spied on. In fact, she seemed almost pleased, the ochre on her cheeks standing out as her grin grew.

“Will your companion continue to reside in the protection of the papyrus and the surrounding architecture, or is he too shy to say hello to your dear mother?”

The woman’s words stirred the thief’s pride admirably, his chest visibly puffing up as if to prove to them he hadn’t been hiding, and he made a point of taking his time coming to them, as if to further state he was going to greet them at his own leisure and for no other reason than because he felt like it.

The wife of Akunamkanon would have none of that, her thin arms and much smaller body doing the amazing feat of gathering Bakura and Atemu to her.

“So, my sons, tell me what you’ve both been up to?”

\----Cold----

He felt it again. The eyes boring into his back, the hard stare following his every move, the icy scrutiny trailing down his spine… Yami didn't know when it'd started or how he had come to notice it, but he had now. Wherever he went in his soul room, no matter how far or deep or hidden he was, he couldn't escape the feeling.

Consciously, he held back another shiver, trying to remain neutral as he surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing on the steps or doorways that he could see, but perhaps… Closing his eyes, he reached out with his magic, invisible tendrils moving to touch and grasp anything of magical value without his signature on it.

Suddenly, one line struck something.

 _Got you._

He whipped around, using the channel as a guide, but his victory was short-lived. Whatever it was shot back at him with much stronger force, skipping the warning phase and going straight into attack. The assault was glacial in its intensity, curving around his psyche to the point where his spiritual body felt threatened. It encased his body, eliciting a gasp that had him sinking to his knees. This time, though, he could not hold back the shivers. As if to defend himself, he wrapped his arms around his body and ground his teeth.

Upon regaining some strength, he tried to lock back on to the invader, but there was nothing left to seek. It was gone…save the sensation of that constant stare.

\----Meaning----

Years and years they'd been together, and never once did Bakura go out of his way to touch him, _let_ himself be touched. He wouldn't so much as turn away from him or anyone, always having to be aware and ready to bolt. Nights of passion, rough and heated and quick, were the most he'd receive at one time, and even then once they'd dozed off, they'd drift apart on the mattress; it was as if even in his sleep he didn't desire contact.

That was why one morning when Atemu woke up warmer than usual and quite comfortable nestled against the other's back, his arms cocooned around his midsection, he felt accomplished and more than a little honored. ****

\----Saucy----

"Do it," Bakura hissed, pressing down and encasing the other's body with his.

His companion murmured a husky, "Wait," and curved closer, fingers tangled in the small spikes of hair at the nape of the former's neck and dragging down his back, running over coarse muscle and tightly-wound skin.

Impatiently claiming his mouth, the tomb robber bit Atemu's lower lip to draw blood, smearing it across their chins and tongues as they became far too engrossed to care about the flesh wound. Kiss deepening and Bakura's hands wandering lower, the Pharaoh lifted his forehead close enough so that they were connected. Bakura shivered, knowing what was coming and anticipating it greatly.

He felt Atemu's third eye materialize against his skull, invading his entire being - his _soul_ \- and filling it with a sensation of such power that they were both feeling its influence. Everything intensified tenfold, their experience enhanced beyond anything a mere mortal's body could achieve alone. In the hours it felt like the magic had taken hold of them, the two of them came out of it panting and immensely satisfied.

 ****\----Execrable----

Bakura Glared. Not just glared, or _glared,_ but Glared in such a way that it deserved a capital letter at the beginning of it. His eyes tried to bore into the other's head, pouring in all the loathing and dislike and utter contempt towards the situation that he could possibly muster.

Yami pointedly ignored him, which only made him narrow his gaze further, to the point where he hoped he had gone from dangerous to downright menacing.

At last, the other shifted; the only other sign that the Pharaoh was taking notice of his Glare was the shifting of his own gaze to glance at him from the corner of his eye.

"What?"

"You know _exactly_ what," he hissed, bringing his lips close enough to Yami's ear that the words burned.

"You promised," Yami reminded him calmly before his attention returned to the lighted stage in front of them. With a sneer, Bakura looked too, hands grasping the armrests in a white-knuckled grip as the dancers - one of them Anzu, mind you - pranced across the stage to cheesy opera music.

Maybe he could put Ryou in control-

"Don't even think about it."

 ****\----Temerity----

"That wasn't like you," Bakura noted with little emotion, sign enough of just how much the opposite he must have been feeling on the inside.

He wasn't a touchy-feely sort, the most someone able to get out of him at any time perhaps amusement or anger, and when he was feeling anything else, it usually took a great effort to show it, so you can imagine the strain at being bombarded with several like he must have been right that very moment.

Yami shrugged at his comment, releasing a small wince as the white-haired man dabbed more than enough antiseptic onto the gash on his arm before he wrapped it _tightly_ with some gauze.

"Why'd you decide to duel like that, then?"

The Pharaoh's eyes had remained closed from the time he'd sat down to be treated till a moment longer, opening once he'd come to some conclusion.

"I had wondered how you must feel…when you duel the way you do."

"So careless," Bakura scoffed.

Raising his eyes, he made sure he held Bakura's own before nodding firmly.

"Exactly."

 ****\----Gloaming----

You would think that, with them being who they are - Yami being Yami and Bakura being Bakura - they would each know their place. Bakura himself feels more comfortable in the darkness, skulking in the shadows with its shaded security and hollow promises. He has been there so long it's as if he is the darkness.

And Yami? He should be all bright and sunny, enjoying the light like the good little hero he is.

But he's not. He slips into either role with ease, doing what he has to do, _trying_ to be fair but not always able to win the battle _and_ the war. The Pharaoh is stuck smack-dab in the middle, switching to whatever suits his needs at the time.

The thief didn't think Yami had it in him to surpass him at fraudulence.

 ****\----Virtu----

A necklace with intricate gold inlay, carnelian, feldspar, hand-crafted garnet beads, and turquoise gems. Good for showcasing, but with a poor history - no halfwit with enough money would ever go for it.

Statuesque, five-inch alabaster cat. Easily mobile, good condition, but far too delicate.

Some pottery…a couple pieces of wall art…some papyrus…and enough amulets and textiles to sink a cruise liner.

Then he saw it.

In a small glass case in the back of the exhibit was a solid gold arrow with a fine hint of red and hieroglyphic symbols of the sharpest, most detailed quality across its shaft. _The good god, the lord of action, Neb-Ma'at-Ra, Beloved of Sekhmet, the Mistress of Dread, who gives life eternally…_

It was perfect. To read it better, he'd moved in close and now he was glancing around for-

His eyes landed on Yami, who was giving him a _look._ He returned it with a blank one. The Pharaoh's eyes narrowed. In return, Bakura merely sighed.

\----Turgid----

"You won't win. I'm only a couple of turns away from winning this."

Bakura's voice was arrogant - confident, even - and his face boasted a smirk to accompany the sound perfectly.

Yami had heard it all before.

"I will believe that when you are actually capable of backing up those words."

Despite the harsh reminder of his previous failed attempts at victory, nothing changed in the tomb robber's tone.

 ****\----Otiose----

Some things, Yami will never be able to define, though so far there is only one such thing. The 'thing' actually happens to be a person named Bakura, whose actions are erratic yet strangely purposeful all at once.

He should have been obliterated, devoured, killed, _defeated._ The thief knows he can't win half the time, picking and choosing his battles only to come up short at the end. All his hard work seems so pointless in hindsight. Not worthless, but bordering on wasteful. His talents for strategy could have been put towards such better devices.

But he never asks why. Yami _knows_ why he does what he does, or at least part of it.

And he wishes he didn't.

\----Aspersion----

"Thief!"

He didn't have a choice. It was steal or starve, it was steal or go thirsty, it was _steal or die._ He had not wanted to be born into a life where he was so defenseless. There was no helping it; he did what he had to do. That didn't mean he liked it any more than anyone else.

" _Thief!_ "

He had turned it into an art. Distraction, patience, using and creating and reveling in every trick of the trade…he'd done and mastered it all. There wasn't anything he couldn't take for his own; no clothes, loaves of bread, or valuables were out of his reach. It wasn't even about need anymore, because what he _wanted,_ he got.

"THIEF!"

He was a stealer of souls, sending the center of men to the grave like a farmer sending his flock to the slaughterhouse. If someone, _anyone,_ got in his way, they were done for.

"Thief."

He knew he'd outdone himself when it came to his attention that, without even knowing it, he'd stolen the Pharaoh's heart. After some reasoning, he decided that now might be as good a time as any to retire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the information used in 'Virtu' was taken from [here](http://www.thekeep.org/~kunoichi/kunoichi/themestream/sekhmet.html).


End file.
